


Porcelain Queens

by Intothewickedwood (zacobyz)



Series: The Knight and the Castle [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Inspired by Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-26 17:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16686166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacobyz/pseuds/Intothewickedwood
Summary: Killian begins to lose hope as he tortures himself over what could happen in the future, an 8-year-old Alice gets extremely frustrated with her situation in the tower and creepy porcelain dolls be creepin. Also, wizard's chess! It's wild y'all!





	1. Chapter One

Killian gracelessly took a seat on the edge of his well-worn chair. Alice was already perched on a stool in front of him. He extended his hand out towards the assortment of hairbrushes and combs on the adjacent table and fumbled through them until he settled upon his preferred aid. The former Pirate Captain hummed a soothing sea shanty while he gingerly ran the hairbrush through her wild curls. He was so engrossed in his task, he didn’t catch sight of the way in which Alice recoiled each time the rigid bristles intertwined with her stray knots. 

“Ow! Papa, it hurts!” 

At his daughter's behest, Killian hurriedly set about trying to unbind the brush from the clump of hair it had entangled itself in. 

“Bl- sorry, Starfish. This task demands a certain amount of care. I seem to have gotten preoccupied by my own thoughts. Won’t happen again.” 

“But I don’t understand. Why do you have to do this every day? I don’t like it.” 

“You’re going to have to elaborate,” suggested Killian, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Why do you have to brush my hair every day? You brush it so it looks different. Can’t we just leave it?” Demanded Alice. She pivoted on her stool to face her father before her expression shifted from one of undiluted defiance to one of someone immersed in deep contemplation. A moment of tranquility and then Killian watched as the blood drained from her face. Her forget-me-not irises met his bewildered gaze, she hesitated and then added, “It’s ‘cause of the Witch in my dreams, isn’t it? She has hair like me. Why do I have hair like her, Papa?” 

Her words reopened a gaping wound Killian had long since tried to conceal. He felt his muscles tauten as the fires of sorrow rained over him. No matter how eager he might normally have been to entertain her every question, this subject went leaps and bounds beyond what he’d surmised he ought to brace himself for. His face betrayed dismay as his insufficiently thought out objections manifested in the form of a solitary, strangled murmur. He narrowly refrained from interjecting that both Liam and Alice’s own namesake were also endowed with voluminous curly locks but he opted against divulging those details upon being briskly reminded that the curls atop their heads were exceptionally tighter than those of his daughter’s. No, in his mind, he'd comprehended precisely from whom she’d inherited her untamed tendrils and he couldn’t stomach the notion of it- couldn’t suffer to concede that so much as a trace of that heinous demon resided in his little girl. And so, every time the skies were set alight by the amber, violet and magenta haze of sunrise, he committed himself to meticulously neatening Alice’s main until not one ringlet remained in his field of view. He felt that his employment of this drastic measure was nonsensical, excessive, even. Here he was, an erstwhile Pirate Captain, going into a mild, internal frenzy over something as superficial as the appearance of his child’s hair. 

“Her hair is more often braided than not, love. Well, that’s what I gather from your descriptions. Not exactly you're coloring either. I’m not sure what you're getting at,” retorted Killian, his tone imbued with the ghost of vexation. 

“It’s not always braided, Papa,” the girl explained. “Why can’t I leave the tower?” Killian released a dispirited sigh, settled his forehead against his palm and absent-mindedly set about massaging his brow. He knew she didn’t need to have the gift of prophetic dreaming to divine what his, as of yet, invariable response to that question would be. The inquisitive lass was presumably about to scrutinize him over another matter shrouded in mystery. 

“We’ve discussed this, Alice. There’s a spell keeping you entrapped- a barrier, if you will,” Killian replied, his barely veiled exasperation bleeding through the cracks. 

“It’s her isn’t it? You’re not telling me something. You told me lying is bad!” 

“I haven’t lied, love. In time, I’ll gladly disclose everything you need to know,” Killian reassured her. 

“If I can’t leave here, can’t I know why now? You’re being imperious!” Alice paused momentarily, an air of perplexity crossing her features before she tilted her head to meet his matching pair of eyes. “Was I bad, Papa?” she breathed, her voice breaking under the weight of realization. 

An all-consuming twinge of remorse and heartbreak twisted at Killian’s insides. The solemn quality to her tone left him bereft of speech. Had his equivocacy been the thing that precipitated her drawing this inference? Or, perish the thought, did she conjecture that some virtuous entity might be keeping her retained here as retribution for some long-unremembered infant’s mishap? He couldn’t be instrumental in her giving credence to those ideas. But was the truth far more harrowing than any fabricated tale he could spin? The mother she’d so craved was markedly the most malevolent individual he’d had the displeasure of crossing paths with in his near three hundred years. The conniving witch had been the one to entrap her flesh and blood in exchange for her own liberation. Her initial ploy necessitated that both birth mother and father forsake the newborn so she might starve to death, and Gothel’s intentions now were likely far more sinister than anything his mind could conjure. 

“No, no, no, Starfish. Don’t ever think that,” implored Killian, tenderly wiping a stray tear from Alice’s cheek. 

“Papa, please!” Alice yelled, beseeching him to trust her with a genuine response. She pulled away from his touch and abruptly rose to her feet. Her distressed cry engendered more anguish than even the unendurable sensation of his heart being torn from inside his chest had; worse than the feeling of white-hot knives piercing every inch of his torso. He was immensely conscious of the fact that he couldn’t continue perpetually dancing around this subject. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to confess. 

Alice was visibly shaking now, her breath hitched at uneven intervals, her already reddening eyes contrasted with the cascade of tears threatening to spill from them. 

“You liar! You promised to always tell the truth!” 

“Alice! I’m doing what I bloody can to protect you!” The Pirate barked back with more fire than he intended. 

And then came upheaval. He should have heeded the signs. He was well-acquainted with her impulsive outburst and their tendency to sharply escalate by now but given the theme of the discussion that had sparked the onset of the impending tempest, he mentally readied himself for what could conceivably be the one to surpass its predecessors. 

Alice started pacing erratically, somehow managing to cover the entirety of the wooden surface of her place of confinement in the space of a few minutes. She muttered some incoherent jumble of words under her breath, which rapidly transformed into an unsettling display of hysterical yells through unbidden tears. Killian’s intermittent attempts at pacifying her were to no avail. Instead, her eyes flashed back to her stool and before her father could think to react, she elevated the rickety piece of furniture above her tiny head and propelled it directly into the glass lantern beside her bed. Killian watched with bated breath as glass shards tore through the air and cascaded over his shoulders, missing him by a hair's breadth. On instinct, he instantly dashed to shelter Alice from the downpour but the moment he reached her she was already bounding towards her next target. He obstructed her path and in one swift motion, he seized her by the waist and spun her to face the other way in order to evade potential injury. Exhibiting this sort of intemperate reaction was hardly anything abnormal for his daughter but he was confident neither himself nor his brother, nor any child he’d encountered, for that matter, had behaved like this at her age. He’d be telling a deceptive tale if he was to deny that it terrified him. The young lass had no regard for her safety in the midst of her fits of rage. 

Killian scarcely had time to come to grips with all that was happening. Soon, the little lass had wrestled her way out of his restraint before racing to her methodically arranged porcelain dolls. 

“Alice, careful!” he warned, arms held up in wordless surrender. She disregarded him coldly, not even taking the opportunity to spare the man a glance. 

Needless to say, she didn’t heed his caution. Alice picked up as many of her dolls as her small arms could comfortably bear and the next instant, she was hurling them into the adjacent wall with unwarranted force. One or two toppled head first through the window, the rest suffered some minor damage. Amidst her distressed cries and disconcerting screams, she sucked at the air like it had suddenly become thick and was now almost too difficult to draw in. This was assuredly one of the most severe outbursts he’d ever witnessed. Killian advanced towards her at a snail's pace, hoping not to exacerbate matters but his efforts were in vain. She had already gathered up what was left of her toys and proceeded to strike and trample over the poor sods, occasionally sparing a moment to aimlessly toss them about the place; one after the other without delay. Killian was promptly compelled to shield his ears and he winced when Alice unexpectedly let out a pained, earth-shattering shriek. It must have surely been sufficient to alarm the entire kingdom. Birds in the nearby clearing cried out and scattered. But the racket didn’t bother Killian in the slightest. For all the frustration and feelings of despondency he endured as a direct result of her entrapment, it could be of no consequence when pitted against the emotions that must be coursing through her little head on a daily basis. He almost deliberated over letting her continue, owing to the fact that he was quite cognizant of the cathartic effects damaging property had on a person. That was, until he recalled that the dolls were forged from porcelain and stared down to see their mangled faces. Alice blindly reached for one of the glass vials of sand and dirt he’d brought for her amusement. Without hesitation, he grabbed a hold of her, scooped her up in his arms and dragged her away from the wreckage. She thrust it into the air and his heart ceased beating at the prospect of what might have resulted had he gotten to her a second later. 

The portrait painted by the glass and sand strewn surface reawakened a long-disregarded concern. In truth, he incessantly asked himself if he’d done the right thing in lavishing her with nonsensical souvenirs from the outside world. A previously dormant part of him ruminated over whether he’d been morally justified in occupying her days by tutoring her and coercing her into studying the particulars of things she may never have use of. He had been adhering to what was, in all probability, a foolish notion that someday she’d experience the world as she should have always been able to. But what if she was fated to be caged in this elevated, stone dungeon for the rest of her days? What if he perished in this tower and Alice was left to gaze upon his immovable corpse for all time, so all alone and terror-stricken, with no means of ever escaping? What if, in the absence of his guardianship, that Witch was free to do with her as she pleased. All this time he’d spent believing, if they danced like hell, he’d swear she’d never hit the ground. The remnants of hope were but a candle’s flicker when juxtaposed to the blaze that burned so brightly years ago, when he first held his weeping babe. But now was hardly the time to plummet down that rabbit whole and discard all hope lest he stop striving to find a way. And for Captain Hook, not finding a way wasn’t even worthy of fleeting consideration, especially when his Starfish’s future was at risk. 

Despite Alice’s near-indistinguishable protests, he maintained his grip on her, competing to keep her steady in his arms. For he wasn’t about to allow her free rain and risk her getting an untold number of splinters in her bare soles. He made an effort to facilitate her in reaching a more serene state but it was as fruitless as he’d anticipated it’d be; his pleas for her to try to compose herself appeared to fall on deaf ears. Still, she persisted in trying to wrestle her way out of his grip, her arms flailing about indiscriminately while her shrill cries rent the air with no indication of dwindling. He felt her uncontrollably shaking as she wept, and he cradled her while providing her with earnest words of solace. 

Killian didn’t need to unpuzzle her behavior. The former sailor was all too mindful of the fact that these were not the ramifications of a simple quarrel over some blasted hair brush. The poor lass was long-surpassed the brink of unappeasable frustration with her situation. Confined to the expanse of a single room in this bloody tower since birth, spending her daylight hours yearning to know the feeling of the coarse, emerald grass between her toes. She didn’t have to verbalize her reasons if she couldn’t. He understood, or at least he always tried to. How he wished he could trade places with her. He’d have given anything to afford her just one day of freedom. 

Killian didn’t even notice that his own vision was becoming obscured by a thick layer of moisture threatening to leak out of his eyes; the corners were already raw as a result of him unconsciously fighting to choke back the tears. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to keep his emotions pent up anymore. Eight years he’d watched his child suffer at the hands of a Witch and perhaps eight years of fending off the feeling of unbridled hopelessness that was forever inching towards him had at last taken its toll. And for once in a long, long time, he let himself surrender to the overwhelming, inaudible sobs that battled to escape his lips. 

It took until the fall of dawn for Alice to start simmering down. Killian hastily dabbed at his own eyes with the sleeves of his disheveled shirt, privately praying she hadn’t caught sight of him weeping along with her. She seized the opportunity to untwist herself from his other arm and shuffled over to the wall behind her father, where she clumsily slumped down and sat with her back touching the wood, face pressed to her knees. Killian saw no purpose in stopping her in her tracks. He just requested she stay away from the glass, which he then carefully swept out of their way. Once he’d finished, he gathered the pieces onto some threadbare fabric, folded it a few times and tied the corners together with some loose string so he might more easily dispose of it. He risked a glance at Alice and it was immediately brought to his attention that she hadn’t had anything to drink yet. 

“I’ll fetch you a glass of water,” said Killian as he sauntered to their supply. “Bloody he-,” he broke off mid-phrase and coughed. “I mean shrubby shell…errrr....fish,” the dark-haired man backtracked, nervously scratching behind his ear as he spoke. “Ah, it seems our water bucket is in need of replenishment. I can’t have you dehydrating in this heat now, can I, love?” 

Killian discontinued talking and crouched down to her level. He playfully outstretched his hand to her and though he wanted nothing more than to embrace her heartily, he knew better than to touch her when she got into a state like this. He tilted his head to one side and said, “I’d prefer not to leave you like this either. Love, please respond. I promise, I will find a way to free you. The gory details are simply better left in the past, for now at least. Someday you’ll understand, Alice.” He exhaled deeply, surveying her for any indication that she might consider acknowledging him. He nodded to himself, deciding to feign an upbeat attitude for the sake of his endeavor to lift her spirits. 

“I’ll be back before you know it!” 

With difficulty, he half-hopped, half-stumbled to his feet, internally noting how much more wearisome such a straightforward feat had become in his old age. He took one last, hopeful glimpse at his Starfish and ambled towards the tower’s only unlocked window. Just how he managed to clamber up and down the length of the tower for eight years ceaselessly baffled him. He favored the idea of not making himself scarce at a time like this but there was no feasible alternative. She must’ve been parched and he needed to rid himself from the hazardous fragments of glass somehow. Perhaps allowing her some space would assist in improving her mood. 

***** 

Killian was near approaching the tower’s sole entrance. He dug his extremities into every memorized crevice and crack, being careful to maintain a firm footing. His upper limps protested and he cried out with every upward heave. He could hear his Alice now. He chuckled triumphantly through his pain. How it enraptured him to hear that she’d recovered enough to resume playing. He tried to discern what she was saying. If she was feeling forgiving enough, she might let him join her in her games. 

“And dear me, what a state your hair is in!” 

“The brush has got entangled in it! And I lost the comb yesterday.” 

Ah, the sweet sound of his daughter’s boundless imagination! She’d inherited her affinity for devising elaborate stories from him, whether they be expressed through literature or play. 

The climb seemed endless. The stress of the day’s events wore on Killian and he had adopted a more cautious approach to the task than what was typical of him. He could hardly focus on what Alice was saying. 

“Suppose he never commits the crime?" 

"That would be all the better, wouldn't it?" 

“You're wrong there, at any rate. Were you ever punished?” 

"Only for faults.” 

"And you were all the better for it, I know!" 

"Yes, but then I had done the things I was punished for. That makes all the difference." 

"But if you hadn't done them, that would have been better still; better, and better, and better!" 

As Killian drew ever closer to his desired destination, he couldn’t help perceiving something rather curious. His smile waned as he resorted to listening more attentively. 

“If Papa won’t tell us the truth. Then I say we stage a mutiny!” 

"I know what you'd like! Have a biscuit?” 

That final voice was unlike anything he’d heard before, and it was decidedly not Alice’s. His breath caught in his throat and a new, sickening lump formed in his neck. His heart thrashed behind its bars and drummed thunderously in his ears as he quickened his pace, abandoning all consideration for his own safety. 

Hook adjusted his limbs so he could more easily hoist himself over the window’s ledge as he prepared to defend Alice at all costs should there indeed be a trespasser awaiting his return. He just prayed Alice hadn’t accepted those damn biscuits. 

With one final upward pull, he was finally able to behold what was lurking on the other side. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the utter chaos and absurdity that ensued before his eyes when he entered. 

“Bloodiest of hells,” he breathed. 

Killian looked incredulous. His eyes dilated and his jaw hung open. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

A cyclone had formed from his and Alice’s discarded apparel and it encircled Alice with enough momentum to lightly scrape the walls, glass from their surviving light fixtures was spattered everywhere and the porcelain dolls were suspended from the ceiling and everything of considerable height capable of accommodating to their weight. They swung on his hammock and positioned themselves on every surface, bouncing up and down in elation. Some were adorned with the miniscule pirate attire he’d bought for Alice to play dress-up with, most of them were grievously marred by now; some of their eyes were quite literally hanging in by a thread and others’ faces were fractured horrifically. They were all indisputably sentient. Some scaled everything they could and howled “Mutiny!”, while the toys below cheered and urged them on, each one of their incomplete faces contorted with menace. His gaze landed on two of Alice’s best-loved dolls; the now eyeless Red Queen and the White queen- both named after pieces from an old chess set- who were suddenly fast approaching him. But little did he know; the Red King was already dangling upside down behind him. The animated toy bided its time until Killian stepped backwards, then it latched onto the back of the Pirate’s collar, flipped itself onto his shoulders and used its icy digits to try to cover his eyes. Other dolls decided to assist and clung to Killian’s clothing and limbs. He stumbled and staggered, doing his damnedest to shake them from his legs, cursing them as he did. After he pried the Red Kings stubby fingers off his eyes, he was finally able to see Alice. Her face was still buried in her knees. It looked like she might somehow be too overcome with emotion to pay attention to all that was transpiring around her. 

Gaining little success in trying to get the little buggers off of him, Killian resolved to do something moderately drastic. He hobbled over to the pale of water that he’d used rope to lift into the tower before his ascension. He grappled it by the handle with his hook, gripped the bottom with his hand and gracelessly poured the numbingly cold water over his crown. The dolls screeched, hastily fled and dispersed themselves about the place once more. 

Raising his hand to shield his eyes, he returned to his pursuit to locate Alice, but was instead made aware that her bed sheets were arranged as to form a minuscule, fabric pirate’s ship around the girl, complete with rigging and a deck. Although mostly obscured by the whirlwind of garments, he could see that some of the dolls were hanging from a half-formed main mast. This was a bloody nightmare. He’d witnessed an array of different types of witchcraft, and plenty of it in his long years but never anything like this. Plainly, Gothel must have cast powerful enchantments on the tower at some point. He wondered if they were triggered by the occupant's current feelings towards visitors. 

A tumultuous gust wailed in his ears. It made him feel off-balance, it objected to his every step but he had to press on. He had to get to Alice. For the commotion in the topmost part of the tower could be nothing compared to the furious chaos that must be ensuing in her tiny head for her not to so much as acknowledge the calamity. He should never have strayed from her side. 

“Alice!” He bellowed, the sheer desperation apparent in his voice. He couldn’t hear himself over the rustling and howling of the unnatural gale. From what he could tell, she didn’t look up but he saw she had brought her hands to her ears. 

The wind resisted his every effort to advance and his sodden garments and hair glued to his skin, making the chilling breeze biting his flesh close to insufferable. It took all the strength he could muster just to put one foot before the other. The closer he got, the more items of clothing thrashed at his face and torso. Fortunately, the sensation was akin to one you might expect from being repeatedly beaten with a handful of feathers. Still, their contact with his skin was unpleasant to say the least. 

“Alice, love-!” Still no response. A sudden jolt of terror struck him and he frantically began rummaging around for his cutlass, all the while fearful that it might have gotten caught in the current. It was as if his old companion had accessed his thoughts; the cutlass had already started gliding towards him, his eyes broadened reflexively and he responded by promptly unsheathing his single-edged sword. He held the blade even, a perfect, undaunted horizon; always leveled with the nose. The bloody bastard had volition enough to retaliate on its own accord, and quite skillfully at that. He had stalled the cutlasses every strike and his blade shivered under the brutality of its compelling strength. He swiped it aside, exercising unyielding vigilance. 

Everything was going rather swimmingly- all things considered; the cyclone of clothing was beginning to lose considerable momentum and his opponent and himself seemed to be quite equally matched. That was, until he felt something through his vest, whipped his head around and swore so loudly he feared Alice might pick up on his foul language. An oar, a keepsake from his favorite rowboat no lest, had thought it a good idea to prod him in the back more than once and was seemingly goading him into challenging it. This was bound to take an interesting turn. 

Hook whirled around, slicing an inch off the paddle in one swift movement. Had he not known better, he’d have sworn the thing seemed upset and betrayed by his actions. He booted it right in what he presumed to be its face and spun back round to lunge at the cutlass, fresh determination coursing through his bones. The sabre backed him into his easel, it quickly became unstable and toppled over under his weight, yanking him to the ground with it. He rolled out of its way and narrowly missed its edge as it brought itself down, slashing through the dead center of the canvas. He leapt up in time to avoid getting slapped across the face by the oar’s paddle. 

As time progressed, he came to appreciate that he was actually beginning to find enjoyment in this ludicrous three-way-duel. He chortled with each clank of his sword upon realizing that the cutlass and oar were in no way fighting to injure him but rather, they were almost impishly trying to keep him isolated from his daughter. Like hell they would. And one could never be too cautious with the likes of Gothel and her sorcery. 

Unbeknownst to Killian, Hatter; Alice’s ebony top hat, had been dancing contentedly above his head for quite some time. To his great surprise, the hat unceremoniously tumbled onto his head, settling right over his eyes. Killian made to tug it away from his line of vision but misfortune befell him. He blindly brandished his sabre, hoping against hope he’d be able to counterattack as adeptly as he had prior to the accessory's interference. He listened closely for any indication of movement, noting each and every shift in the unabating winds so he might determine their whereabouts. He reacted instinctively and astonished himself by continuing to dodge there every assault. 

Then, Hook overheard the most wonderful sound in all the realms; Alice had fallen into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. It made a smile tug at the corners of Killian’s lips and ignited a renewed rush of determination to get to her. Finally, he was able to successfully peel the top hat‘s brim over his eyes- the damn thing didn’t want to get off his head any time soon- and returned to setting his sights on the oar. He raced after it and thwarted one or two crafty attacks before effortlessly slicing his formerly-treasured possession into three unequal segments. No doubt incapacitating the cutlass would demand he apply a wider array of expertise but nothing a bit of quick thinking couldn’t handle. Hook waved his blade in figure aids, the swords clanged noisily as they clashed together and a piercing ringing sound reverberated in his ears. The cutlass slashed the fabric of his vest and shirt at the midsection. It missed the flesh behind it by a mere inch. Enraged, Killian doubled down on his faceless opponent, grunting and utilizing all his strength in his attempts to back it into the window. Killian’s sabre was illuminated by the sunlight as he brought it up beside his ear and with one brutal blow, he severed the other blade clean in half. Its separated remains wasted no time in plummeting to the base of the tower. 

He withdrew his sword and returned it to its sheath. He resolved to employ his hook to nonchalantly cast the airborne garments out of his path as he trudged forward. It was noticeably easier to do this now that the turmoil was dying down and with that in mind, he was at last able to get to Alice. When she inclined her head fractionally, he stooped down and presented a hand. 

“How about a tea party, Starfish?” Killian offered, tipping his top hat and grinning broadly.


	2. Chapter Two

The windstorm had almost come to a complete halt; a dozen items of clothing and linen glided elegantly downwards, while others collapsed with a shockingly tremendous thud. The thunderous breeze had faded into an eerie whistle, and after a hearty meal of jam and bread- a meal which Killian spent most of his time going from mistrustfully eyeing the still very animated dolls to trying and failing to ignore them- he and Alice sat at their chess table for tea and biscuits. Alice was closer to getting back to her exuberant self. It filled his heart, watching her beam with enthusiasm, though he did worry she might be masking her true feelings. The dolls had been courteous enough to refill the pale of water, but he didn’t dare speculate on where they came upon it. It tasted water-y enough in all fairness.

“I’m sorry, Papa. Don’t know what happened. I didn’t see-”

“It’s okay, love. You knew this tower was capable of this sort of magic as much as I was. But how about we avoid staging any mutinies for a while? At least until I’ve found a solution to our doll problem. Aye?” Killian made a fleeting gesture towards the very irritated-looking dolls and Alice’s cheeks flushed scarlet.

“No more mutinies,” she chuckled.

“I’ll toast to that.” They held their tea cups at arm’s length and clinked them together. 

In the silence, Killian couldn’t help pondering over whether the source of the calamity was truly Gothel’s enchantments. What if somehow, this was a manifestation of Alice’s magic? But Alice was no witch- how could she be? Nearly all the mages he’d encountered were malevolent and ruthless- not unlike himself in his prime. But not his Alice. He loathed the way the very notion made his blood run cold. Shared physical characteristics were one thing, but inherited magic from that witch was a foreboding prospect unto itself. He’d love her unconditionally either way, and he trusted she’d never follow in the Witch’s footsteps but he wasn’t mentally equipped to confront the idea of it just yet. Killian discarded the thought and convinced himself he was being ridiculous. All this was the product of a vengeful sorceress’ wrath and nothing more; likely the work of the same bewitchments that had spawned an abundance of essential sustenance all these years, albeit not always when they needed it. But then, why would the Witch be so magnanimous? Surely, she was incapable of such an altruistic act. Of course, the more chilling alternative was that she wasn’t being charitable at all. Somewhere in his soul he knew it was possible that the Witch needed Alice alive for whatever cruel, sadistic plot she’d been surreptitiously crafting. Any moment, she could announce she’s discovered a solution to freeing the tower’s prisoner, only to rip his beloved child from his arms and drag her away kicking and screaming, all whilst she kept him bound with chains of vine and he’d be forced to look on, utterly powerless to save his little girl, just as it had been when that vindictive Crocodile took Milah’s life. Or what if by some improbable coincidence, Alice did possess magical abilities, wanted to hone them and suddenly she didn’t need her Papa anymore, so she turned to Gothel who’d use her cunning to poison her mind against him? Or worse she could…… He couldn’t allow himself to finish that train of thought. It was too unthinkable, far too horrifying to ever entertain. He’d give his own life a thousand times over, and infinitely more before he allowed any of that to happen. He had to stop giving way to these torturous thoughts but he just never felt Alice could truly be out of peril so long as this godsforsaken bird’s cage belonged to the sorceress. And still the tormenting ideas clawed their way into his nightmares and haunted him restless night after restless night. 

He was beckoned back to the present when he realized Alice’s smile had faded. Whispers from the ghosts of their argument were no doubt the reason for her now melancholy expression. But again, deep down he knew the scars ran a lot deeper than what was on the surface.

“You alright there, lass?” 

Alice nodded unconvincingly.

“How about a game of chess. Let’s see if I can beat you this time around, shall we?”

He reset the board and just when he proceeded to pick up one of his white knights, the table started quivering beneath him. His eyebrows knitted together at this but he ultimately put it down to the shift in weight when he removed his elbow from it. But when he momentarily paused to scan their surroundings, he immediately learned that it wasn’t just the table. 

Without warning, the floor beneath them trembled furiously and debris from the topmost part of the tower rained over Killian and Alice’s heads. Killian raced to protect his child. She shrieked and leapt to her feet before timidly shrinking to his side. He held her close, his hand firmly clutching his sword. The dolls scuttled around in a panicked frenzy, howling in terror, some ramming themselves directly into the walls and furnishing.

Hook blinked and gaped at the outlandish scene. This had to all be a figment of his imagination. When would they be given a reprieve? When was he going to awaken from this nightmarish dream? Now was as good a time as any, but evidently there was no slumber to rouse from. The ground beneath them ruptured, the lengthening cracks trickled towards them and the whole structure shook so violently, it felt as if it might collapse at any moment. 

Next minute, what looked like the apexes of numerous oversized helmets, miters and a few horses’ heads began gradually emerging from the surface of the room. He reversed into the wall just behind the chess table, retaining a tight grip on Alice- who objectively appeared more petrified than he’d ever seen her. The floor underneath the table splintered horribly and what Killian assumed to be the top of a gigantic, ivory crown seemed to be battling to break its way through the floor. But in time, he saw it wasn’t a crown at all. They were the merlons of an enormous rook. These were chess pieces!

Black clouds appeared to materialize from nowhere. A fork of lightning struck the roof of their home, small fragments of stone cascaded from the heavens. The air grew heavy and the humidity pressed down, suffocating. The scent of rain was dark and heady. A stillness encompassed the clearing, but soon the quietude was disrupted by the bellowing crackle of thunder. The icy rainwater showered in through the nearby window, drenching Killian from the side.

In a flash, the rook skewered the table with its keen edges, crashing into the entire table set. The furniture was propelled through the air and flipped over, imperiling both Killian and Alice. Killian scooped Alice into his arms and weaved his way through the emerging chess pieces as fast as he could, taking care to peer upwards at sporadic intervals to ensure nothing was in danger of dropping on top of them. What panicked him most of all was the fact that although, in theory, he could descend the tower and get out of harm’s way in an instant, Alice was cursed to remain there come hell or highwater. Their home was razing itself before their eyes, with them in the middle of it, and there was nothing he could do to aid her in escaping. He’d never felt more helpless or sick with worry.

“Papa, what’s happening?!” His Starfish screamed.

Killian scanned the tower for somewhere, anywhere they could go without the risk of being scathed, swerving to avoid the rising chess pieces at every turn. Everywhere he looked, he saw black or white suits of armor, horses and faceless bishops emerging from the ground, as checkered marble slowly washed over what was once a timber floor. Killian squeezed Alice reassuringly, released her from his hold, enclasped her hand tight in his and they sprinted aimlessly together. Finally, he came upon an unimpeded path to the middle of the chess board.

“Alright, on the count of three we run to the center! Hold on tight!” Killian instructed, having to compete against the thunder’s deep growl. Alice nodded but continued to shudder with fear. “One! Two! Thr-”

The ground below Alice cracked open, the top of another gargantuan rook burst through it and hoisted her high into the air before either of them could register what was happening. Killian felt his arm stretch painfully behind him until she was raised to such a height that he was forced to relinquish his grip. Even then he tried to jump up and grasp her outstretched fingers but she was far out of reach by the time it had elevated to its full height. 

“Papa!!!”

Hook poised himself to climb the statue but the row of black pawns in front of him all drew their blades at once, obstructing his only route. He squinted up at his terrified lass, his heart breaking, fear consuming him. He reluctantly shut his eyes and attempted to clear his mind so he could contemplate his next move. There was only one thing for it; hoping that his theory would hold true, he swiveled on his heel and darted towards the white pawns. They didn’t flinch. He wound his way passed them and mounted the great white horse nearest to the rook opposite Alice’s with difficulty. Strangely, it was the only one that didn’t have a knight sat astride it.

“Alice, hold on!” He shouted over the storm. A streak of hot silver split the blackening sky and torrents pummeled the roof as he spoke.

“I’m scared, Papa!”

“I know! I know, love. As am I! We’ll be alright!”

Killian clutched the stone horses’ rains and guided it onwards. It pawed at the ground and sprung to life, jolting him much quicker than he had anticipated. He was impelled to enclasp its neck as it galloped high over the pawn in front. It then skidded diagonally to another sqaure. It moved just like a real horse- granted a rather cloddish one. He urged it forward but when it didn’t oblige, it dawned on him that it could only move to a determined set of squares at a time. His heart thudded dangerously and he turned to face Alice.

“Listen, I think the only way to rid ourselves of this bloody chess board is for one of us to win the game! Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think I understand!” Alice replied, apprehensively.

They attempted to play like they would any other game. They applied their usual tactics and adopted new strategies when they deemed them necessary as the porcelain dolls cheered rapturously from the sidelines. 

While it was necessary for Killian to steer the horse and bark directions at the other chessmen, Alice appeared to simply close her eyes, envisage where she wanted her players to move and they readily obeyed. Everything was going as smoothly as one could expect under the circumstances, though it was becoming more conspicuous that some of the pieces were capable of operating at their own volition; namely both their queens. Ignoring his command, the White Queen stalked angrily towards a black stone bishop. She raised her longsword, the bishop held out its crosier in submission and the Queen brought her blade down and cut into the air before striking it remorselessly. It crumbled, and father and daughter both turned to each other wide eyed. This was no conventional game of chess. Whatever complications arose, Killian could not allow any of his chessmen to take Alice’s rook. He would need to monitor the sentient White Queen very closely. 

Not many pieces had been taken by the time Alice came close to settling the game. What she seemed oblivious to, however, was the White Queen’s gradual approach. The Queen had thus far made her own way to a square directly across from the last remaining black rook- Alice’s rook. In one vengeful stride, the Queen could attack against Killian’s will. He’d do his utmost to restrain her, but the towering statue would surely shove him backwards, immobilizing him before he could do anything to foil the onslaught. That was unless- unless he left his knight open to the Black Queen’s attack. Aye, if he blocked his own Queen’s path, the Black Queen would be free to displace his steed, giving Alice the optimal opportunity to checkmate his King. 

His stone stallion tilted its head to buck excitedly before cantering to the square in front of the Queen opposite Alice. Alice turned her attention to the Black Queen and gasped in horror.

“Papa, no!! You’ll hurt yourself!!” She yelled in desperation.

“I’m sorry, Starfish. Your safety comes first,” Killian said, contrition and concern laced in his brittle voice. He couldn’t even bring himself to look her in the eye. 

Sure enough, the Black Queen came for him. This was a sacrifice he’d unhesitantly make again and again no matter how horrible it felt to have terror’s glacial fingers trickle down his spine as the Queen drew her weapon. With one mighty overhead blow she lacerated his soaked sleeve, tearing through the flesh of his shoulder and maiming his trusty steed. Another brutal strike and the horse came crashing down. The pirate’s stomach lurched as it collapsed underneath him, hurtling him back-first into the marble floor. He landed at the board’s center with a grotesque crack, his head rebounded against the surface and the last thing he heard was Alice’s blood-curdling scream before blackness crept over and consumed him.

*****

Killian’s only thought before he drifted into unconsciousness was what would happen to Alice? What had he done? The child would be totally helpless without him. He’d broken his promise to stay with her as long as he could. He’d failed her.

Kilian was startled awake by the booming crack of thunder. The feeling surged back through his body and he bolted upright, panting and blinking his eyes open. His gaze fell on Alice. She looked inconsolable, standing there, bawling for her father, trapped high atop a scale-down tower. Fresh tears were spilling relentlessly from her bloodshot eyes. He’d never forgive himself for putting her through this. He scratched his temple with the point of his hook, hunched over in pain and, too winded to speak just yet, he gave her a cheeky thumb up to signal that he was okay. She shot him a relieved, toothy grin through her tears. Killian made to haul himself back to his feet but Alice’s rook had other ideas. It wobbled vigorously from side to side, revolving on its axis. It seemed to be hell-bent on dismounting her. In a flash, it propelled her into the air, she fell on her side with a heavy thud and slid to the center of the board, clasping her left arm to her chest and grimacing. 

“Starfish? Are you hurt?” Killian asked urgently. He gently took her limp arm in his hand and anxiously inspected it for any sign of injury.

“I think it’s okay. I’ll be okay,” assured Alice, though her body language told a different story. When he spotted the deep gash across her arm, he shut his eyes tight and shook his head, inwardly chastising himself for lowering his guard. He felt nauseated by all the dreadful alternative scenarios pulsing through his mind. He as good as inflicted the wound himself. If he’d just exposed that deceitful witch for who she truly was, perhaps today wouldn’t have taken this bizarre turn.

“There’s a brave lass. Now, if these chess pieces are quite finished, I’ll go fetch something to cover that nasty wound.” Killian planted a comforting kiss on her crown and hopped to his feet.

“No, Papa! Look!!” 

With haste, Killian shifted to look back at Alice. Her eyes darted frantically and, in her frightful state, she pointed furiously at something with her injured arm. His gaze followed her gesture and without a breath, he pulled them both to their feet. 

“Oh, bloody hell!”

The surviving black chessmen had their swords and staffs at the ready and were aggressively taking deliberate strides towards father and daughter. Killian and Alice drew back in unison but were brought to an abrupt halt when their spines met the serrated, sharp points of the white chessmen’s weapons. Killian led Alice back to the midway point. He enveloped her in his arms and tried to cover her eyes as he looked on, completely devastated. He didn’t want her exposed to any more trauma; didn’t want her to experience an ounce of the sickening, throat constricting fear powerful enough to succeed in unnerving even him in that moment. No child should be subjected to such a daunting scene, not even a pirate’s daughter. 

“It’s alright, love. It’s alright,” he said in an undertone, trying to convince himself as he cradled her head tenderly, his mind hastening to find some unobtainable solution.

The armed figures were closing in, encircling them now. As reluctant as he was to accept the truth, Killian was versed in combat enough to know there were only two courses he could take: he could surrender and chance getting killed regardless, leaving his daughter to fend for herself, and pray she prevails; or he could meet his end at the sword, fighting, giving her her best chance. That aside, who was he kidding, there was only ever one option.

Killian pressed an extended kiss to Alice’s forehead, swearing to himself that it wouldn’t be the last, and he grudgingly let her out of his tight hold. He ordered her to remain in close proximity, behind him at all times, facing the opposite way. He took a step forward and unsheathed his sabre before launching himself at one of the sole remaining black pawns. Being one of the smaller players, it stood around five feet tall. Every time he inflicted a hefty blow to its kettle helmet, his sword rebounded. Its distorted face combined with its unearthly manner of moving served only to distract and disturb. And it was damn well nearly succeeding. Hook parried its blow and expeditiously disarmed it. He grasped its sword by the hilt and called back to Alice, who was making inefficacious attempts at reasoning with the white chessmen. He tossed it to her and she caught its stone handle with ease.

The Pirate twirled his half betwixt his fingers, causing it to spin at his side. He positioned himself for attack and advanced towards another pawn. He flourished his sabre, gaining enough proficiency and momentum to efficiently deflect and intimidate. 

The pawn swung for Kilian’s face and when the Pirate lurched away it followed, attempting to stab low towards his guts. Blade’s clashed with a metallic thunk and the pawn slashed wildly for the Pirate’s left arm, hoping to wound him before he could adjust his attack, but he shifted his guard so the blade caught only his hook.

Another thrust from a different pawn followed, this time aimed at the neck. Killian pushed against the crossed swords, forcing the intended stab aside, but was in no position to counter with his own. Another slash, and a white knight came from nowhere to slice a shallow cut in his cheek, forcing him to lurch off-balance and stagger away. He briefly wondered why their swords seemed to be a lot more durable than the chessmen themselves but alas, as long as he aimed true he’d make quick work of them yet.

Soon enough, rubble from the broken figures mounted at his and Alice’s feet. Killian unseated the black knights, they lunged at him and he swiveled back and forth to ward them off simultaneously, before flourishing his sabre to cut into one of them from behind. Rather than risk tangling his sword, Killian slashed at the Knight before him with his hook, pivoted, performed a feint and both brandished their weapons at each other, their paths intersecting, until Hook’s sabre cleaved into its leg, its upper half sliding off with a hideous groan.

To Hook’s astonishment, the dolls soon bustled to join the fray. In an unforeseen twist of events, most toys elected to align with himself and Alice, whilst others fought comically amongst themselves. Their new allies scaled the remaining chessmen and clung to their heads. They must have found a way into the cupboard he kept his sowing needles in, since that seemed to be every one of their weapons of choice- excluding Mr. Rabbit, who had been quite stationary until now. He instead saw it fit to set about beating a white pawn repeatedly with his wooden spoon.

Killian turned back frequently to make sure Alice was okay, occasionally disarming or impaling her opponents when they got uncomfortably close to repaying the favor. But he’d trained her well, if he did say so himself. She’d make quite the swordswoman one day. 

A cacophonous clamor echoed through the tower and made Killian jump. He whipped his head around and was dumbfounded by the sight of the White Queen disintegrating upon impact of Alice’s sword.

“Well done, Alice!” He exclaimed.

“Watch out!” Shrieked Alice. Killian heeded her exhortation in time to find the last chess piece, the White Queen, with her longsword prodding at the hollow of his neck. He swallowed. And then, he almost inadvertently finished himself off when he heard Alice scream.

“Get away from Papa!!” She roared. He glimpsed the blur of a small figure charging past him, steadfast with her sword upraised. He involuntarily stepped back as with one fierce swing the Queen came tumbling down. 

Lightening illuminated the heavens like a serpent of brilliant light sent to puncture the earth and the skies trembled with thunder’s cries. A formidable gust erupted through the tower’s entrance, throwing the dolls onto their backs and suddenly, both the toys and the remnants of the chessmen were shrouded by a burst of misty, dancing white light. Killian watched in awe as each doll and chess fragment hovered meters off the ground and systematically mended itself piece by piece. The restored chessmen steadily spiraled and shrunk from their 10 feet to objects minute enough to hold in one’s fist, magnificently transfiguring themselves into pieces indistinguishable from Alice’s non-sentient set. At last, it appeared Gothel had had enough games for one day. Another blinding, deadly streak slashed into the night, fracturing the skies. It brought him back to his senses- of course she wasn’t so easily appeased. From what he knew of her, this hellish ordeal was far from over.

The tower trembled again, this time much more violently. The floor glowed before luminous ripples transformed it back to its ordinary state and just as the dazzling whiteness engulfed their surroundings in a flash, father and daughter were wrenched apart as an immense fissure, large enough to fall through, opened and split the ground between them. The walls and windows were cracking now too, forming spectacular patterns in the glass and stone. The booming of thunder swelled to such a volume Killian was afraid his ears might bleed. He had to do something, lest they both be buried in piles of rubble. Alice’s breathing grew sharp and heavy. She abruptly brought her hands to her ears and scanned the room wildly.

“Please, help me!” She pleaded to no one in particular. 

That was the final confirmation he needed. He understood, now with more clarity than ever before; everything that occurred today had been triggered by Alice’s emotions. The question of whether all this was incited by her magic or the tower’s enchantments would have to stand by for another day’s musings. He didn’t blame Alice in the slightest, of course. If this was incidentally her doing, she had no control over what was happening and right now she was frightened and confused and most importantly, she needed her father. 

“Alice, can you hear me?!” He bellowed across the room, his throat aching from incessantly having to compete with the storm.

“Yes, Papa. I hear you!”

“Alright, I need you to try and calm down, love. I think your inquietude may be somehow overexciting this accursed tower’s bewitchments!”

“Papa, I can’t! Please! You have to make it stop!” Alice whimpered, pressing her hands more firmly to her ears as the walls crumbled around her.

“It’s alright, Love. You can do this, I know you can. Remember what I taught you about the ocean?” said Killian, this time adopting a more dulcifying tone as he toiled towards her.

“I can’t, Papa! I haven’t seen it!”

“You don’t need to see it to imagine it, Starfish! The sea’s in your blood as much as it’s in mine. Your imagination, Alice; it’s always been one of your greatest gifts. Trust me, Love, like I’m trusting you now. Wish for the ocean to bring itself to you.”

“Okay. I’ll try!” Said Alice tentatively. She scrunched her eyes closed and tried to imagine what the ocean might be like. She remembered her Papa’s paintings and the vials of sea water he’d acquired for her. She pictured a painting stretching for miles and miles and tried to visualize the waves swaying and sweeping over the sand. She thought of a soft breeze- one quite unlike the bracing gale enveloping her presently and she cast her mind back to her Papa’s soothing voice as he lulled her to sleep.

Alice’s eyes flashed open. The storm had at long last ceased, the gaping crack which separated her and her Papa was no more. Infact, there was no indication of there ever being a storm at all. The walls and floor had wholly mended themselves, as had the windows. Her dolls were lined up in their usual place, unblemished. Alice wouldn’t have believed there was any sort of devastation at all had it not been for the pristine chess set chaotically sprinkled about the ground. It was as if it had all just been another one of her deeply disconcerting night terrors. 

Alice saw the proud smile etched across her Papa’s features and scampered towards him, but half way, she slipped over the black rook she’d been trapped atop mere minutes ago. She was thrown backwards, then quickly adopted a sitting position and she fell into a fit of giggles. And after sufficiently dispelling his worries about her being hurt, her father soon succumbed to her infectious laughter.

Killian bent to pick something up and then collapsed beside Alice, exhaustion finally settling in. What he’d recovered from the ground was none other than one of the shrunken chess pieces. He held it up and looked at it, smiling.

“This little rook caused us quite the stir, didn’t it?” Said Killian. Alice cheekily snatched it and studied it for a while.

“I like it! It’s my favorite piece now,” she declared.

“Aye?” Killian asked incredulously.

“Uh huh. It reminds me that even though I can’t leave the tower, I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

“Aye lass,” replied Killian, mirroring her smile. He stretched his hand out and seized another chessman.

“And I’ve grown quite fond of this knight, myself,” he confessed, revolving the white chess piece between his fingers. “It reminds me that I’m never going to end my quest for your freedom- not until it’s completed. And, it reminds me to remind you that I’m going to be there for you, as long as I’m needed,” said Killian, sincerity transparent in his loving expression. Then he pressed his index finger to the tip of her nose and stuck his tongue out, warranting another titter from Alice.

“I’ll always need you, Papa,” Alice said solemnly.

“Ah, you say that now! But when I’m all old and decrepit-,” Killian joshed half-heartedly.

“Then I’ll still need you.”

“Then I’ll always be here, Starfish.”

Killian struggled to his weary feet and assisted in helping Alice up. He embraced her warmly, and she squealed when he abruptly lifted her, laying her head against his shoulder. He spun them in circles until they both grew dizzy, then he propped her up onto the window’s ledge. Killian spent that night teaching her how to identify the constellations and telling stories; some innovative and others from some distant, far-off lands.


End file.
